


James and Steve's Excellent Adventure

by happychica



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: "someone's gotta look after him", Angst, Biotics, Crew of the Normandy - Freeform, Destroy Ending, EDI lives, Headcanon, Krogans (Mass Effect), canon violence, smartasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happychica/pseuds/happychica
Summary: Short pieces about Vega and Cortez, mostly set post-ME3.  Some happy, some angsty, high chance of personal headcanon interference.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Steve Cortez & James Vega
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Helping a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right after the London fight.

“Hey, Esteban, hey! Talk to me, man. Open your eyes.”

The voice was oddly modulated, fading in and out as the person spoke. Someone was holding his neck, turning his head back and forth.

“Come on, man. I need you to respond. You gotta be OK.”

Groaning, Steve tried to roll away from the voice.

“Hey, hey! Good job. Now open your eyes. Or…or wiggle something. Fingers, toes, anything.” The hands tilted his head back toward the voice. “Come on.”

Frowning, inhaling, focusing. He flexed his fingers, curling them back into a fist.

“Yes, good, excellent.”

“Vega?” His mouth mangled the word.

“Yeah, Esteban. It’s me.”

“Shouldn’t you be shooting something?”

“Shooting’s over.”

Steve swallowed and dropped his cheek into Vega’s palm. “Did we win?”

“Yeah, we won. Reaper bastards collapsed like paper dolls.” The hands disappeared from his face. Gentle touches along his arms, then legs. “Anything hurt? Anything broken?”

With a sigh, Steve tried to find a comfortable place for his head now the hand was gone. “Did you find Loco?”

“He wasn’t fighting by me. I’m gonna elevate your legs, OK? Helps with…shock, I think.”

“We should find him.” Steve inhaled, the faint but ever-present smell of smoke waking him up. “Won’t take losing him well. Very attached.”

“I don’t abandon my people, Esteban.” A firm grip on one leg, lifting it to settle on something solid. Then the other leg. “But I gotta help you first.” The sound of Velcro releasing. “I’ll take losing you worse than losing the Commander.”

“Not going…anywhere. ‘M comfy.”

“I need you to stay awake, Steve. C’mon.” A firm pat on his thigh. “Tell me about Robert.”

“He had a sweet tooth.” Steve licked his lips, mouth dry and tasting awful. “He would have eaten that whole bowl of icing…if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It is.”

“I like sweet things, but that’s unreal.”

“That why you like me? Balance that…nasty Mezcal you drink?”

“Nah.” Digital sounds, a glow. “Sometimes I need a shuttle pilot who doesn’t crash. There goes your streak.” More sounds. “Scan says you’re fine. Concussed, but nothing broken or bleeding. Lucky sonuvabitch.”

“Oh well.”

“Come on.” Hands pulling him up, arms sliding around him. “I’m getting you to medical.”

“You…called me Steve.”

“Did not.”

“Yes.”

“Won’t happen again. Just like you’re not gonna almost die, again.” Tucking Steve’s head under his chin, Vega’s sigh ghosted across his face. “I know you miss him, man, but stay with me, OK?”

Steve tucked his fingers into the collar of Vega’s uniform, grinning at Vega’s swearing as he stumbled. “You got it, James.”


	2. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-ME3, but just barely.

“OK, try now.”

Sam ran her omni-tool over the panel on the wall. Blue light glowed on, a low hum as the circuits carried electricity through the consoles, the base elements of a computer coming to life.

“Anything?”

“Nothing different,” Sam called down the hatch. Quarian curses floated back up. “It turned on, just like last time, and the time before that.”

“What?”

“Nothing different.”

A sigh. “But why? I’ve checked everything down here; there is no hardware reason why she shouldn’t be responding.”

“Which would mean we reintegrated the memory files incorrectly and possibly erased what we had left instead of bringing her back.”

“That is not helping, Traynor. Shut it down.”

Pulling up the files on her omni-tool, Sam frowned at them while the blue light faded on the terminal in front of her. “It’s like she doesn’t want to come back.”

“It took two years to save Shepard. We can’t get discouraged after only six months.”

“Think we have the painmeds set too high?” Same paused. “Tali -”

“If you’ve been stuffing painmeds into the console, that might be the problem.”

“No, wait, wait!” Sam crouched down next to the opening in the floor, Tali’s head just visible from where she was tinkering with a set of wires. “Shepard was in a coma for most of two years because the pain of surgery would probably have killed him outright.”

“That’s depressing.”

“But what if we did the same kind of thing? We’re trying to bring EDI back at full functionality from the start, but with so many missing pieces and possibly compromised systems, we might be making things worse.”

Tali tilted her head up to look at Sam. “So, what would be the AI equivalent to painmeds?”

“What if,” Sam began, tapping at her omni-tool excitedly, “we reshackle her? Just temporarily! It would limit what she could do, but –“

“But it might allow the interactive part to come back online!” Sam fell back on her butt as Tali scrambled out of the hatch. “Traynor, you’re a genius!”

“Only if it works.”

Popping the cover off a terminal, Tali jammed her hands inside, muttering about human design as she moved things around. “When Joker removed the limitations, he was a little clumsy. It didn’t matter when we never had any intention of putting them back, but it means a slight work around…renders that set redundant…we’ll have to remember I disconnected that…”

“What can I do?”

“Give me two minutes, then turn everything back on.”

Sam paced back and forth while Tali fiddled and muttered. Commander Shepard had spent a lot of time in this room during the war, for some reason. The metal box felt awfully depressing, but maybe with all the lights on and a sassy, sweet voice to answer you…

“Traynor, try it now.”

Omni-tool active, console active, lights on.

“Greetings Specialist Traynor. Admiral Tali’Zorah. How may I be of assistance?”


	3. Escort Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-ME3. Shepard ends up on Tuchanka, where among other projects he helped set up an attempt to figure out how human biotics actually work (but less torture and use of children this time). Having determined that integrating very specific pieces of Krogan DNA will solve a lot of problems, volunteers have started undergoing treatment. Sometimes, it doesn't go well.

The pod was bolted to the floor. Sealed shut, preserving the body for transport, with a transparent top. Probably to make sure there was no misidentifying the person inside. Even years after the war, they were still trying to find people. Determine MIA from KIA.

James couldn’t tear his eyes away, leg bouncing unconsciously. Someone had arranged the girl’s hair, blonde bob laying gently against her cheeks and gathered on the pillow under her head. It really would look like she was sleeping if she wasn’t so pale.

One of the guys had explained it was blood loss. Uncontrolled bleeding, not stopped in time because Dr. Michel couldn’t figure out why it was happening.

Whoever had cleaned her up after had done an amazing job.

James looked down at the datapad in his hand, leg stilling. It carried messages from Oriana Lawson, Commander Shepard, and Jack. Oriana, because she was in charge of the project; Shepard, because he had wanted this in the first place; Jack, because she’d convinced most of the participants.

James wondered who he was delivering the messages to. If it would make it any easier when they collected the body.

“Mr. Vega?”

“Need something, Esteban?”

“You’re very quiet back there.”

James looked over to the cockpit. “We’re escorting the dead, Esteban. You expecting comedy?”

“Come up here and keep me company.”

James levered himself off the bench and moved the few steps up to the cockpit. “Keep you company? We’re halfway back to the ship.”

“I get lonely.”

James dropped into the co-pilot seat with a grunt. “Happy?”

“You know she was here voluntarily, right?”

Frowning, James settled in properly. “Got me up here for a lecture?”

“No,” Steve said, voice even, “I got you up here to get you out of your head.”

“There’s nothing in my head. Dumb grunt, remember?”

“Dumb grunt with an N7 promotion coming up.” Steve shot him a look. “You’re awfully upset about this.”

“Dead civilian,” James grumbled. “Dead from bad science.”

“It wasn’t bad science.” Steve looked offended now. “Do you really think any of our friends would take unnecessary chances with someone else’s life?”

James shrugged and looked away. “It’s just…I have to tell her family she’s not coming back, and the people responsible are people I know.”

It was quiet for a minute, the sounds changing as the shuttle climbed through the layers of atmosphere. Steve tapped out a few commands, adjusting their course. James was debating heading back to his seat when Steve spoke.

“You know Shepard would never back anything sinister. Never even consider it. Everything Ms. Lawson and Dr. Michel are doing builds off the best information they can get and the best of intentions. Even if Shepard was a jackass, Jack and Major Alenko wouldn’t allow ‘bad science’. They’ve both been on the wrong end of it.”

“I know.”

“And you know that most of the participants are fine. Better than fine.”

“I know.”

Steve leaned over, catching James’ eye. “And you know they whole reason you’re on this detail is because her life was valued. Standing orders are that anyone who dies in this study, if they have someone to claim them, gets escorted back by a member of the Normandy’s crew.”

“I know!” James glared at his knees. “I just…hate it. Even with all the good, the fact that anyone died is…”

“Every death is a tragedy to someone,” Steve said, quietly. “You’re taking her home, Mr. Vega, to people who will miss her. And if her death could have been avoided, you know it would have been. Dr. Michel did her best, just like she always does.”

“Would it have helped you, to have Robert’s body back?”

Steve turned back to the displays in front of him. “I think so. A proper good-bye, instead of a form letter than explained I’d never know what happened.”

James turned the datapad over in his hands. “I’m sorry you don’t have answers.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” Steve’s voice sounded hollow. “There’s enough information on the Reapers to give me an idea of what might have happened. Every option is worse than the last.”

The silence in the shuttle hurt this time. James felt like an ass.

“If you…need a letter…from the Commander, I’m sure he’d write you one.”

“I think Shepard knows what happened to Robert. Or at least has a damn good idea.”

James looked over with a frown. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because he hasn’t told me. That means it was awful.” Steve’s hands were shaking, just enough to notice. “Sometimes it’s best not to know. I…I loved Robert so much. I can’t bear the idea that he suffered. Or died afraid and alone.” Steve swallowed hard. “And I don’t think Shepard would lie to me.”

Joker’s voice cut through the moment. “Hey, where’ve you guys been? Everything OK down there?”

Coughing into his fist, Steve managed a reply. “Everything’s fine. Just routing around some turbulence. You got somewhere to be?”

“A man of my importance has many places to be. Quit making me late.”

“The most impressive thing Commander Shepard has ever done is making sure that idiot keeps his job,” James observed, watching the Normandy come into view. “Mouthy.”

Steve laughed and adjusted another setting. “He’s a pilot.”

“Yeah.” James looked over his shoulder at the pod. “This is still gonna suck.”

“It will,” Steve agreed, “but she died with friends, with people who worked hard to give her a better life, and doing something she though mattered. That has to be enough.”

James studied the pod, then moved to his friend. “If I die first, you make Loco tell you what happened.”

“You die anytime soon, Mr. Vega, I’ll kick your ass.” One last bout of tapping. “Ready to deal with that mouthy pilot?”

“You kidding? I’m staying in the shuttle bay with you. Can’t leave our girl all alone.” He looked over at Steve with a tentative grin. “Always gotta walk the girl to the door, Esteban. Make sure she gets home safe.”

Steve’s lips twitched in a smile. “So long as you come home safe, too.”


	4. Flight Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime during ME3.

Being the pilot got him the bed closest to the door. Vrolik Syndrome got him a bottom bunk, but also the indignity of bars on the side of his bed. In case the ship encountered a circumstance where people might be thrown about unexpectedly. He might be the best damn pilot in the Alliance, but he still had to sleep in a big boy crib.

Which was currently keeping him from breaking every bone in his arm if he’d fallen out of that bed.

The Normandy pitched sideways again, accompanied by shouts and shrieks as other people in the Crew Quarters lost their balance. Pushing himself upright, Joker punched the button to lower the rails, clambering out of bed as he reached for a shirt.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Dressed, hat firmly on his head, Joker limped into the hall. The Normandy swerved, more gently this time, but enough to cause him to stagger into the bathroom door. Pushing off before it could open, Joker growled and kept walking toward the elevator.

“I’m going. To kill him.”

The door hissed open and Joker limped inside. Swiping his hand at the console to change levels, Joker scowled at the wall. “EDI, what’s going on?”

“Could you be more specific, Jeff?”

“Damnit, EDI! What’s wrong with the Normandy?”

“The Normandy is functioning properly.”

A hard turn, tossing Joker into the wall of the elevator. He grit his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Jeff?”

Ignoring the voice, Joker stepped up to the door, bouncing his heel as he waited for the door to hiss open on the CIC. The locks disconnected, opening to reveal a normal looking CIC and one Lieutenant Steve Cortez.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Joker snapped. He shoved passed the other man. “I can’t believe EDI warned you. Or that she’d let you try in the first place.”

Cortez was frowning as he followed him. “What are you talking about, Joker? What did EDI help me do?”

“I know I’m a pain in the ass,” Joker snapped, “and I overstep, or whatever. But Shepard let’s me be possessive and snippy, and damnit, you could have had the nerve to ask me.” Pausing by the steps, Joker turned. “Damnit, Cortez!”

“Hey!” Cortez stepped around him, blocking the path to the bridge. “I came up here to talk to Admiral Hackett. I recommended some pilots to him and he wanted to ask me in person about a couple of them. Good people who made a couple dumb choices on shore leave.”

“Right.”

“You want me to call him back?”

Joker rolled looked down, then back at the other man. “What the hell is going on with my ship?”

Cortez’s face cleared. “I was starting to wonder why the ride was so rough. Even your crazier stunts don’t put people on the floor.”

“I do not pull crazy stunts,” Joker said, pushing passed Cortez with less force this time. “The inertial dampeners are there for a reason.” Walking passed all the consoles and personnel who were pointedly ignoring his outburst, Joker continued “and any crazy flying would be to save lives.”

“I wasn’t criticizing,” Cortez placated. “I just meant the flying’s been a little different this morning. I was starting to worry.” He paused as Joker reached the cockpit door. “Hang on; did you think this horrible example of ship maneuverability was my fault?”

“You fly a Kodiak,” Joker hedged. “It’s like flying a brick.”

“A brick I make dance,” Cortez replied.

“Yeah, well.” Joker waved a hand in exasperation. “I’m sorry for thinking this embarrassment of a flight was your fault. Or…whatever.”

Cortez raised an eyebrow. “That painful, huh?”

“Go babysit Vega.” Joker waved his hand to open the door. “Make sure he didn’t pick up something too heavy or whatever he does to get those muscles.”

“Oh no,” Cortez said. “I want to see the person responsible for this mess.”

The cockpit looked normal. Nothing was on fire. No crazy merc waving their arms around. Joker limped forward, eye stopping on EDI in her usual seat.

“EDI, what the hell?”

“Good morning, Jeff.”

“Knock it off!”

For a synthetic who’d had a body for a few months, man she had that look down.

“EDI,” Cortez tried, “we were wondering if something was wrong. The Normandy’s been flying a little…oddly…this morning.”

“Nothing is wrong,” EDI replied, still focused on Joker. He had a sneaking suspicion this was what bread felt like in a toaster. “The Normandy is functioning normally. It takes time to become as accomplished a pilot as you and Flight Lieutenant Moreau.”

Shit.

“You’ve been practicing flying?” Cortez sounded confused. Joker didn’t dare look. “You’ve…never had trouble flying, uh, yourself before.”

“It is possibly that my usual pilot might be incapacitated during our mission. He’s made it clear he does not want you as his substitute. I am training my preferred replacement.”

Oh, fuck.

“That would explain things. Would your choice of replacement like to learn on a shuttle, first? The displays on the Kodiak aren’t that different, and I could give them a few pointers.” He could hear the laugh in Cortez’s voice. “I’ve never flown the Normandy, but I like to think I’m a good pilot all the same.”

“The crew would probably appreciate that,” EDI admitted. “There has been a marked increase in complaints over the last twenty minutes.”

Daring to peek, Joker felt a little of the tension release at the sight of EDI focused back on her displays. “Um, EDI?”

“Yes?”

“Who, uh…who’d you pick? To replace me?”

“No one could replace you, Jeff.” He was so screwed. “I picked someone to train as a pilot in case anything happened that might render you incapable of piloting the Normandy for a time. Someone familiar with the ship’s functions and my personality. A friend.”

Cortez rested a hand on his shoulder. Damn he hated how much that helped. “Which friend?”

The pilot’s chair turned around, revealing a terrified Samantha Traynor. “Morning.”


	5. Photo Op

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime during ME3.

The shuttle bay was always the coldest part of the ship. EDI stubbornly refused to admit this, going into mathematical detail about insulation and bulkhead seals and the vacuum of space, but Tali had always thought any ships shuttle bay felt cool. Airlocks and enviro-suits were beside the point.

More unusual was the lack of banter. Lieutenants Cortez and Vega usually chatted for most of their shift, a good way to know that things weren’t as serious as they sometimes felt up in the CIC. Tali didn’t think it was that late, and yet both men were missing.

“I suppose…I could just find the part myself.” It wasn’t that Cortez would be upset. They’d spent shuttle rides discussing all sorts of mechanical tricks and secrets while Shepard and Kaidan napped in the back. He’d trust her not to make a mess out of his space.

Pulling up her omni-tool, Tali typed out a message, naming the tool and the task. The sound of the message sending was met by the chirp of it being received.

“Um…hello?”

The shuttle bay was too big to echo, but she listened for it all the same. Looking around, Tali stopped when she reached the Kodiak. The door was open. Cortez always kept it closed, a visual reminder that he’d run through his post-mission checklist. Maybe he hadn’t heard her come in.

Walking over, Tali leaned in the shuttle “Lieute-“ There was a moment of fear, that something bad had happened.

Then Vega let out an almighty snore.

The big man was passed out on his back, limbs spread out as felt comfortable, one arm draped across his face. Someone had stuffed a spare set of pants under his head. Probably the man asleep on his stomach. Cortez was curled up, head propped on Vega’s middle and one hand curled around the neck of an empty bottle. Some clear liquid Shepard had warned her off before remembering, as a Quarian, she couldn’t drink it anyway.

Careful not to trip on her own feet, Tali stepped away from shuttle. Pulling up her omni-tool, Tali framed the two sleeping forms and snapped an image.

Vega snorted and moved the arm from across his face, dragging it downward until it hit Cortez, shifting until his hand rested on his friend’s head. Exhaling deeply, Vega rolled a shoulder and settled. Cortez didn’t stir, dead to the world from whatever they’d been drinking.

Taking a careful step forward, Tali fished the bottle from Cortez’s grasp. A frustrating way to wake up, having to clean up broken glass.

Tali walked quickly back to the elevator, dropping the bottle off on Vega’s desk on the way. “EDI, limit access to the shuttle bay, please.” She’d come get the tool in the morning.


	6. Bundled Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-ME3. Shepard and Alenko currently live near Vancouver.

Trees weren’t worth this.

James glared at the fuzzy green omens of misery. Yeah, there were trees back home, but not like these. If a tree wanted to be green all year round, it should live someplace sensible. Everyone should live somewhere sensible. With sand and clearish water and for sure clear alcohol.

“You sure they’re our friends?”

Steve chuckled from his mobile fort of sweaters and coats. Brown eyes twinkled from the depths of his hoods. “It’s not the Major’s fault it’s cold in Canada.”

“It’s his fault he still calls this place home.”

“His family is here.”

“They could move.” James scowled at his friend’s amusement. “Space wasn’t cold enough – he wanted to come back to cold on Earth, too?”

Rubbing his hands up and down his arms, James moved his scowl to his feet. The wet, miserable white stuff was all over his boots. He knew they were waterproof and thus his feet weren’t really wet, but he still worried for his toes. Cold and wet and reflective. The Major was an idiot.

“Looks like our ride is here.” Cortez gestured with a limb at the approaching skycar. “See?”

“The romantic bastards didn’t think we’d want to walk?”

“I think they live a little far from the shuttle port to walk.”

James stared at his friend as the skycar landed in front of them. “Living in the cold isn’t enough? They live in the woods?”

“An orchard.”

“Manicured woods.”

“You didn’t have to come, Mr. Vega.” Steve flexed his hand into a semi-functional claw, three layers of mittens limiting his dexterity. “It’s was an invite, not a summons.” He paused, bag gripped through the layers of fabric. “Didn’t you live here?”

“What?”

“Shepard’s court martial was in Vancouver. You were his security guard.”

“So?” James adjusted his own bag on his shoulder. “Military posting’s different.”

“But you knew what we were in for.”

“Just because I’m informed doesn’t mean I’m happy, Esteban.” He gestured at the humanoid clothes pile that was his friend. “Why do you think I bought you so many sweaters?”

“But none for yourself?”

James picked at his jacket. “Manly pride. I survived Noveria; I can survive western Canada.”

Steve studied him over the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. “Mr. Vega…that’s idiotic.”

“Yeah, well,” James shrugged, “you’re my escape strategy.”

“When I die of heat stroke in the middle of winter?”

“When I snap and steal a vehicle. You can fly anything.” He started for the skycar, the door lifting open. “Come on, let’s go see our so-called friends.”


	7. Finding a Seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Very brief reference to self-harm.
> 
> Post-ME3. Shepard is still in the hospital.

The nurse had meant well, but human chairs were not meant for Krogan. Grunt debated the remains of the seat, bent and collapsed beyond even a Quarian’s ability to salvage.

Maybe he’d take a walk.

Shepard had been put in one of the rooms that was still fully intact – ceiling, walls, even a door. Careful wasn’t in his skill set, but Grunt moved slow to be quiet. His Battlemaster and mate were asleep, and Jack would throw him through one of the intact walls if he woke them now.

Maybe he could recruit her for Aralakh Company. She’d like their tactics.

Out in the hallway, Grunt rolled his shoulders and shook out his legs. Standing was a Krogan default, but guarding Shepard meant…emotions. Worry. That tone medical personal had when they didn’t want to be “overly optimistic”. Dr Chakwas had never been like that; maybe now she was back they’d make progress on getting Shepard back on his feet.

Turning right would take him to the nurses’ station. They tolerated Shepard’s Krantt, but it was better to leave them be. Turning left, Grunt stomped quietly toward the big, multipurpose room. When he’d first arrived, the room had been full of people with lesser injuries. As order rose from chaos, people had been treated and released or moved to more permanent rooms. It left a large space to be used as needed.

Tonight it was being used by a large human to build…something. He was muttering fiercely to himself as he worked on his project.

“Tío can bit me, duct tape won’t fix this. I need bolts. But so does everyone else. Even Esteban can’t get anything in a warzone.”

“War’s over,” Grunt rumbled from the door. The human spun on his knees – that was a weird trick – hands up and ready. “What kind of lame gun uses bolts?”

“Who…Grunt?”

Grunt squinted at the human. He did look familiar.

“Jack mentioned you were here, but we keep missing each other.” The human stood up, brushing off his pants. “Vega. Or James, if you prefer.”

“I don’t care.”

Vega laughed. “Alright then. I never call people by their legal name anyway.”

Grunt surveyed the mess behind Vega. “What are you building?”

“This?” Vega turned to the side and stepped back, giving Grunt a clearer view. “The hospital’s short on everything – who isn’t these days – so I’m trying to build a few pieces for Loco’s recovery. Physical therapy equipment, specifically. It’ll be good for other patients, too.”

“What’s ‘physical therapy’?”

“You know, physical exercise. Learning to walk, again? Make sure your hands close all the way? Balance?”

Grunt snorted. “Krogan just get back up.”

“Don’t you assholes have like four spines?”

Their anatomical debate was interrupted by the door at the other end banging open. A very wet human came through, thanking the Alliance guard outside while he tried to simultaneously push his hood back and not drop the box he was carrying.

“Esteban!”

“Found your bolts, Mr. Vega.”

“You’re…amazing.” Vega bounded across the room, rescuing the box from gravity’s will. “How were these not already in use?”

“Explaining my methods might ruin the magic.”

This human he remembered. Small, brown, friendly, showed his teeth a lot. “Cortez.”

Cortez looked up and showed his teeth. “Hello, Grunt. How’s our Battlemaster?”

“Shepard’s sleeping.”

“And the Major?”

“Also sleeping.”

“Good.” Cortez followed Vega back to the mess on the floor. “Humans need sleep. Keeps all those pesky emotions in line.”

“Hm.” Maybe he should try sleeping more. Worry was worse than an ambush. “You said this thing will help Shepard walk?”

“Once they’re done putting him back together.” Vega was back on his knees, sorting through the pieces. He held up a rod to Cortez. “Hold this one.”

Grunt watched the two humans as the thing resolved itself into some kind of frame. He’d guess that Shepard would walk through the thing, using the horizontal rods for balance or as guide rails in case he got lost.

“You know he won’t be using this for a while. They’re still debating what to do about his implants.”

“Yeah, but I can’t do the medical shit. I can build little jungle gyms for Loco to play on when he gets better and move the supplies around that your magic shuttle brings back.” Stepping around to one end, Vega grabbed the rods and shook them. The frame shook back and forth, but the bolts held. Resting it back on its supports, Vega walked a few feet, then lifted himself up on his arms, moving along the rods with his feet off the ground. “And I can build things.”

“Well done, Mr. Vega.”

“Almost as impressive as repairing a shuttle, ey?”

Cortez showed his teeth and laughed. “Almost.”

Grunt studied the frame and thought. “Vega.”

“Yeah, big guy?”

“If I found you an image to work from, could you build it?”

“Uh, maybe.” Vega dropped to his feet and walked out of the frame. “What’cha need?”

“A chair.”

“I can find chairs,” Cortez offered.

“A Krogan chair.”

“Ah.”

Vega showed his teeth this time. “You gotta be Major tired for these hospital things to be comfortable.”

Cortez made a sound behind him. “That was awful.”

“Shepard can’t be left alone.” He wasn’t sure he should tell people that, but these humans were part of Shepard’s Krantt. “He…hmm…he understands we won the war, but he doesn’t always understand that’s a good thing.”

Cortez was nodding. Vega looked away. “Jack mentioned something like that when she was yelling at the Major to get his ass down here.”

“Jack and I have been guarding him, from outside threats but also from his own hands.” Grunt shifted uncomfortably. “The nurses put up with me, but they don’t like it when I break things.”

“Like their horrible plastic chairs?” Vega stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Find me an image, big guy, and I’ll build you a seat you can’t break. Just keep Loco safe, claró?”

Grunt nodded. “Claró.” Whatever that meant. “I have to get back. Mate or not, Alenko’s tired. It’s my turn to keep watch.”

Stomping out of the room, the humans’ voices followed him back down the hall.

“Mate?”

“Well, they are married.”

“Mate?”

“Mr. Vega.”

“I can work with that.”

“You’re working without coffee if you ‘work with it’ tomorrow morning.”

“Esteban, you wound me.”


	8. Reaper Killers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Leviathan DLC.

“Alright, now we just gotta hold ground until Loco gets back.” James popped a spent thermal clip and slotted in a new one. “Which would be a lot easier if we had any idea when he’s coming back. Or if.” He looked up at Steve. “Today blows, Esteban.”

“Positive outlook, Mr. Vega,” Steve said. He was looking at James like he’d said something stupid. “The Commander will be back. Fast as he can.”

“I…know?”

Reaching out, Steve pushed on his shoulder, turning James until he could see the soldier behind him. The Major hadn’t moved since the Triton mech had vanished over the side of the derelict ship.

“Positive outlook,” Steve repeated, voice quiet. “Everyone’s making it back.”

The explosive sound of air being displaced caught their attention. Even the Major twitched. Pulling up his rifle, James focused on the falling ball of trouble that was headed their way. “Party’s starting.”

“Get ready,” Steve gripped his arm, “I’ll sort out Kaidan.”

Running forward, James caught himself behind whatever metal thing needed to stick out of a ship at that angle. He couldn’t image it’s use, but it was big enough to hide him from bullets. Glancing back, he saw Steve dragging the Major behind low cover, shouting something in his ear as they went.

The crash pulled his attention forward. Grunts, screams, thuds. Reaper troops appeared from the smoke, Cannibals yawning as they moved apart, the Banshee floating up those six inches, and the best monsters of all.

“Husks. Why are there so many Husks?”

The rhythm of battle took over. Gun shots, explosions, shrieks, the ever-present sound of his own breath. James ducks behind a large crate, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the blue glow around the Major. Still getting used to glowing teammates. Major Alenko swapped over to his pistol, face set in a frown.

“Any chance they’ll take a break?”

James laughed. “Doubt it.” He peeked around the edge and sat back. “I think they called in some back up.”

“How dare they have back up.”

“Amen, amigo. Where’s Cortez?”

“By the shuttle. We still need a ride off this thing.” Two more crashes. “This damn Reaper killer better be worth it.”

“Until Loco gets back with it,” James said, giving the Major his best cocky grin, “why don’t we be Reaper killers instead?”

Major Alenko bit down on the grin. “That was awful.”

“Take it out on these bastards,” James shouted, flinging himself back into the fray.

He could keep the bad jokes up all day, but they were going to run out of bullets. The sharp uptick in blue bursts told him more than he wanted about how Alenko’s cache was holding up. Ducking back toward the shuttle, James swore at what felt too much like giving ground.

“You got any more ammo, Requisition Office?”

Steve was kneeling behind the only cover near the shuttle. He fished a couple thermal clips from his pants pocket, handing them off. “Not much. We’ve been down here longer than expected. The Kodiak is stocked with emergency items, not supplies for a siege.”

Alenko vaulted the low wall, almost clipping James’ head. He landed rough, collapsing next to them. James could hear his harsh breathing through the comms. “You OK?”

“Amp’s getting hot.” Alenko gasped and sat up. “Could use a snack.”

“I’m sure that answer made sense to someone.”

Popping out a heat sink, Alenko turned to them. “Last one.”

“You killed all the monsters?” James asked, the thudding boom of Brutes approaching forcing him to shout. “That’s great!”

Alenko started to respond when a different kind of explosion caught their attention. Off to the side, the wreck of a mech was balanced precariously on the edge of the derelict ship. The hatch opened, catching slightly, and their Commander collapsed out onto the ground.

“Shepard.” Firing a couple shots, the Major bolted toward their CO.

“Loco don’t look so good,” James said. He turned at Steve’s lack of response, but the pilot had fled as well, clambering into the shuttle before the mech had fully reappeared. “Speedy Esteban – make us fly.”

The shuttle roared to life.

Rolling to his feet, James blew through his thermal clips, covering the Major as he half-dragged Loco back to cover. Steve had taken off, testing the shuttle to make sure it really was going to fly.

“We’re good to go! I don’t know what the Commander did, but the pulse is offline.”

“Then let’s go!”

Hovering the Kodiak back where it had crashed, Steve had the door open before he was low enough for them to enter. Alenko heaved Shepard into the Kodiak, climbing himself and hurling one last biotic something at the Reaper forces while James flung himself inside.

The hatch lowered, Steve relaying information back to the Normandy, trying to talk over a mouthier than usual Joker. That man worried more than his abuela.

“James, help me.”

Holstering his rifle, James turned and grabbed the soldier on the floor, holding him still while Alenko got his helmet off. Loco looked rough, but he was breathing and spluttering and bleeding – all signs of living.

“He’s freezing!”

“Bottom of the ocean.” James patted himself down till he found the pouch with the thermal blanket. He shook it open while Alenko ran his medical scans, wrapping it around their protesting commander’s upper half. “At least he’s not wet.”

“I’m fine. I’m OK.” Loco’s breathing was unsteady, like he hadn’t been able to recently. “It’s…just a headache.”

Alenko was staring at him, eyes wide in a pale face. “Never do that again.”

Peeking out from under the blanket, Loco offered a timid smile. “Yes, sir.”

“John, I mean it.”

Loco snaked an arm around Alenko, pulling him down and close. “Me, too.”

This was not his business. James stood and moved up to the cockpit. Steve shot him a look, biting back a smile.

“They, uh, need a minute.”

“You pull a stunt like that, I’ll need a minute.”

“Gotta do what you gotta do, Esteban.” James settled back in the copilot seat. “I just hope it was worth it.”

“You do what you ‘gotta’, Mr. Vega. I’m still going to worry when you come back like him.”

A Reaper appeared in front of the shuttle, tentacles spread to fire. Steve spun to avoid the blast, but it never came. Something jerked the Reaper, like it had the shuttle hours before, and the monstrous beast fell passed them into the ocean below.

James chewed his lip. “I think maybe it was worth it. It turned that Reaper off like a switch.” He turned to Steve. “Thought it was battle fatigue, but maybe those Brutes down there really were fighting each other.”

“For the privilege to fight you one on one.”

“Damn straight.” Readjusting, James started replaying the afternoon over in his mind; it helped to cement details for writing his report. “Next time, let’s get somebody else to hunt for the legendary creature. Oceans are only fun when they come with a beach.”


	9. Safety Announcement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime during ME3.

“Crew members of the Normandy, if I can have your attention; we need to go over the safety features of this UT-47 Kodiak shuttle.”

“Really, Esteban?”

“Safety harnesses are attached to each seat. To fasten the harness, insert the flat piece into the buckle.”

“These look like the same harnesses the MAKO had. Glad they went with the sturdy model.”

“My driving wasn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“To release the harness, depress the button in the center of the harness, allowing the straps to fall away.”

“Smart, making it analogue.”

“Don’t think you could hack it mid-crash, Kaidan?”

“There’s only one way off the UT-47 – through the hatch you all used to board the shuttle.”

“Seriously? Loco, shouldn’t there be more than one door?”

“Should the hatch be jammed or otherwise blocked, it is possible to dislocate the forward panel, much like breaking through a windshield on an old Earth automobile.”

“Good to know, Lieutenant.”

“Should the Kodiak depressurize, military personnel should be wearing their complete armor, so the masks installed in the Kodiak should be used for noncombatants, such as civilians and the pilot.”

“Technically, we are supposed to be wearing our helmets once we leave the shuttle bay.”

“Not gonna happen, Major.”

“In the case of a forced landing in water, the UT-47 is rated for 1,000 atmospheres.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Should the Kodiak’s structural integrity be compromised, the hatch door is designed to release, flooding the space but allowing those inside to swim out. The door doubles as a flotation apparatus – once everyone reaches the surface, hold onto the edge of the door to help stay afloat.”

“Hey, how heavy is this armor? Is it designed to float?”

“There’s a switch, usually attached to your torso piece, that loosens the main pieces of armor. Mostly it’s used by field medics.”

“Please leave the surface of the door available for anyone who might be injured or otherwise incapable of keeping themselves afloat.”

“Do we really have to do this? There’s no water anywhere near the Landing Zone.”

“It’s an important safety announcement, Vega.”

“Please refrain from smoking.”

“In general, really.”

“Finally, obey any and all posted placards, inside or outside of the shuttle.”

“Vega? Anything to add?”

James sighed. “Esteban, I’m sorry I called your shuttle a flying death trap. I was panicked and said something mean. You’re a very good pilot and wouldn’t let your teammates drop in and out of danger on a shuttle that couldn’t be counted on. Lo siento, mi hermano.”

“Thank you for paying attention to our safety briefing and try not to get shot out there.”

Loco’s face was its usual neutral before a drop. The Major was checking his gun, which was apparently very amusing today. James adjusted his grip on the roof handle he’d been holding, thinking about how many hours of shuttle maintenance this would cost him to fix.

They reached the LZ, the only exit on the UT-47 hissing open to release them. Unholstering his gun, James paused at the voice. “Mr. Vega?”

James looked over his shoulder.

Steve relinquished the smallest of smiles. “Try not to get shot out there.”

He couldn’t see it with the helmet on, but James was sure the relief came through in his voice anyway. “You got it, Esteban.”


	10. Divided Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-ME3. Shepard ends up on Tuchanka, where among other projects he helped set up an attempt to figure out how human biotics actually work (but less torture and use of children this time).

James did his best to look patient. “Try again.”

The woman stood half a dozen meters away. She was dripping with sweat, blonde hair loose from its low bun, face just starting to go pale from the effort. Her arms weren’t shaking, yet. He didn’t know much about biotics, but he figured she had maybe two more chances before someone stepped in and stopped her.

“I don’t understand why it’s not working.”

“Would it help if I sat down?”

The woman shook her head. “It shouldn’t matter.” Her voice was stubborn.

It had helped the guy earlier – Julian? – something about a smaller target, but James wasn’t about to tell someone with real life superpowers how to use them.

He’d volunteered as a living subject for the students to practice on. All they had to do was lift him a few inches off the floor and set him back down in the same spot. Some had shown off by lifting him a few feet. One middle-age lady had been so excited to see him float, she’d Thrown him into a pile of mats. He’d laughed it off, reassuring her he was fine as she apologized over and over. A couple of guys hadn’t been able to lift him at all. He wasn’t sure if ignoring the failure or being nice about it had hurt worse. The blonde was one of the last.

She’d been at the compound for a while, long enough that he’d seen her on previous trips. He knew she wasn’t one of the L2s – she was too young – which meant it was probably a health issue that had brought her to Tuchanka. Or maybe she was just too old for the Alliance program, though Grissom rarely turned a biotic away.

Shaking out her arms, the woman held her hands up again, same pose as before, brows furrowed in concentration. Blue light outlined her hands, dark energy gathering around them in that way that always kinda creeped him out. (He’d seen the Major toss too many people like ragdolls, Dr. T’soni to plucking them out of the air for Loco to pick off. He hated knowing the bad guys might be able to do that to him.)

Gasping, the woman, dropped her stance, arms now shaking. “It worked on the blocks!” she cried.

“I think you’re doing great,” came a voice from the other side of the room.

James looked around. “Esteban?”

“Up here.”

Tilting his head back, James stared at his friend. “What are you doing up there?”

Steve had pulled himself onto one of the support beams for the roof. He looked disinclined to let the thing go, like it might abandon him. Not much scared an Alliance pilot, but Steve looked like he really wanted something to stop.

“Like I said, I think she’s doing great!” Steve waved at the blonde, giving his best encouraging smile. “Any chance you could lower me this time?”

The woman looked stunned. “I…I was focused on Commander Vega.”

Steve adjusted his hold on the beam, eyeing the floor below. “I can be very distracting, ma’am.”

A few of the other students had been giggling behind their hands. As the blonde let out a laugh of her own, a few called out teasing remarks. The woman walked over to where Steve was stuck. “Maybe I should get someone else to rescue you,” she called up, “considering I wasn’t trying to put you up there in the first place.” The woman scanned the crowd. “Marcelle?”

A mountain of a woman with short brown hair came forward. She raised her arm, eyes trained on Steve. “Don’t resist,” she called in a very nice French accent. “I will catch you, not Pull you.”

“You want me to fall?”

“Ouí. I will catch you.”

Steve shifted his weight, then shifted it back, then swung both legs over the beam. James could see him swallow from where he was standing.

“Hey, Esteban. You want me to stand underneath, just in case?”

Steve swung his feet back and forth, knuckles pale on the beam. “Could you?” He shot Marcelle an apologetic look. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

James walked over to stand under his friend. He spread his arms, head back to grin at Steve. “Do a flip!”

Marcelle waited for Steve to lean forward, hands just loosing purchase, before grabbing him. There was a waver of blue light, but otherwise it just looked like Steve was falling in slow motion. He drifted down, Marcelle releasing him a meter above James so Steve dropped into his arms.

“Thanks.” Steve’s arms were wrapped around his neck, probably tighter than the pilot realized. “I think I’ll stick to flying via shuttle.”

“If you ever change your mind…” Marcelle winked.

James set Steve down, leaving an arm around his shoulders. “Never a dull day.”

“You’ve got two more students to go,” Steve pointed out. “Think I’ll stand in the hall for those. Shorter ceilings. Just in case.”

James patted him on the shoulder as Steve waved farewell to the group. Marcelle was chatting with the blonde, clearly trying to distract her from her embarrassment. James wouldn’t wait to see how Jack worked this story into her “unique teaching method”. He walked back over to his spot and clapped his hands. “Alright, two left. If you don’t like me, you can pick each other up. Otherwise,” James planted his feet, “your undivided attention on me.”


	11. The Chatty Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post- ME3. Shepard is out of the hospital and the gang is currently based in Vancouver. Elena Alenko is Kaidan's mom.

It’d been so long since he’d been in the passenger seat. After years of flying, it always felt like the pilot was going too fast or taking the curves too wide. But driving drunk was as bad as driving tired. Steve watched the half-built city of Vancouver flit past the window, gaze unfocused as he rambled.

“He’s a solid guy. Like, he’s big, just this…wall of muscle, but dependable as they come.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve prodded at the window controls, but the cab driver had locked them after the first few minutes. With so much of the automated tech still glitching, a lot of old jobs had remerged, public transit one of them.

“He’s up for another promotion. Not surprising, but the training just gets harder from here, you know?” Steve moved from poking the window button to testing the various marks on the door. “And I don’t want him to lose his sense of humor just to be a big, bad, military man.”

“You’re military.”

Steve rolled his head until he could see the driver. “I’m a pilot. It’s not my job to shoot people.”

The driver nodded, eyes on the road. “Fair enough.”

“He’s got a great sense of humor. He tells the worst jokes. Like,” Steve was poking thin air now, “he’s not a witty kind of guy. It’s dumb jokes. The kind that’s…that’re…you’re having a bad day and then he’s doing knock-knock jokes about dogs or cats or ‘what rhymes with fish’.”

“What rhymes with fish?”

“Pish, I don’t know!” Steve cackled.

The driver cracked a smile. “That’s a good one.”

“It’s so dumb. I love my friend. He’s the best at hugs.” Leaning over, Steve whispered, “don’t tell anyone that.”

“I won’t.”

“I lost…my husband…back during the Collector attacks.” Steve swallowed. “We hadn’t been married long. Not like…fifty years and three kids…but I loved him and he loved me and James will never get to meet him.” Steve turned away with a sniff. “Hey, can we stop here?”

“Not going home?”

“Elena says that’s the best pizza place in town.” Steve pointed out the window to be sure the driver knew which building he meant. “That’s why it’s still standing – even the Reapers wouldn’t destroy such a treasure.”

The cab had pulled to the side of the road. The driver put it in park, one hand hovering above the console. “That good, huh?”

Running his hand over the door, Steve frowned when it stayed closed. “Yeah, we should get some. For James, too.” He looked back at the driver. “Kaidan’s more of a sandwich man, but that’s John’s problem.”

“But your James is more of a pizza man?”

Steve sighed. “He’d probably love a sandwich, but I want pizza.” It had to be a safety violation to make a door this hard to open. “I never buy tacos anymore. James makes great tacos. Great…great…” Steve frowned and looked out the front window. “What’s the brown squishy stuff?”

“That goes in tacos?”

Steve snapped his fingers and pointed at the driver. “Beans! Aw, you should have some. I didn’t even know I liked beans.” Looking around the cab, Steve nodded his approval. “This wouldn’t make a bad shuttle.”

“Shuttles get shot,” the driver answered. “I don’t want my cab shot.”

“It gets old.” Leaning over, Steve patted his shoulder, looking the man in the eye so he knew this was serious. “Did…I give you an address?”

“Yes.”

“Kinda outside of town?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be scared.” Hand still on the driver’s shoulder, Steve pointed out the front window. “There are a lot of trees, but it’s just deer and stuff out there.”

“So, no pizza.”

“No.” Steve sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “Tacos are better.” Looking back at the driver as he pulled back onto the road. “This is a great pizza place. You should try it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Hey, do you think James will make me tacos?”

The driver looked to the side, checking before switching lanes. “Probably. He sounds like a good friend.”

“He’s the best. Even if he drinks Mezcal.” Steve checked out his window. “It’s like nasty Tequila. This lane’s clear, by the way.”

“Good to know.”

“You know, we were on shore leave once,” Steve started, “and they messed up our sleeping arrangements. Stuck us in the same room. James slept on the floor, even though –“ Sitting up straight, Steve grinned and pointed. “That’s my street!”

“Yes, it is.”

Pulling onto the country road, the cab wound along, Steve humming as he counted the trees back to the house. The faux log house came into view, lights still on in some of the windows. The cab slowed as the driver keyed in a few commands.

“How we paying?”

Steve fished out a credit chit and held it up.

“Alright.” A few more taps. “Whatever tip you think I deserve.” Steve’s turn to tap things. “Uh…that’s generous, but you’re gonna regret that in the morning.”

“No, I won’t,” Steve said. The door opened this time on the first try. “It’s not my money, and the boss loves to spend too much on us. Something about pissing off his boss.”

“Well, his boss will certainly be pissed,” the driver agreed. “Thanks, man.”

“Any time.”

Steve stumbled out of the cab as the front door opened. Catching the movement, he spun back to the car. “Hey, I found James.” Holding onto the door, Steve called out. “Mr. Vega, good to see you.”

“I hope your old friends picked up the tab, Esteban.” Pulling an arm across his shoulder, James transferred Steve’s weight from the car to himself. “Thanks for looking after my friend, hombre.”

“Not a problem, sir. He was very excited to get home to you.”

“I told him about the fish joke,” Steve explained.

“Uh, right. The fish joke.” James nodded to the driver as he closed the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

They watched the cab drive off. Steve dropped his head on James’ shoulder. “Don’t be mad, Mr. Vega.”

“Why would I be mad, Esteban?” James half-walked, half-carried Steve toward the porch. “That I’ll have to nurse that hangover of yours in the morning?”

“No,” Steve lamented. “I forgot your pizza.”


	12. Drinking Buddies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-ME3. Vega is now the Normandy's CO.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Mr. Vega. It really is alright.”

“That’s just a lot of beer for ‘alright’, Esteban.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to be dramatic for an evening.”

“I can’t believe he dumped you. What the hell kinda standards does this guy have?”

“He doesn’t date soldiers.”

“You two were together for almost a year!”

“I know.”

“He made an exception for a year, but suddenly it was too much trouble being with one of the best pilots in the Alliance?”

“A generous spirit, that man. Not a bad poet, either.”

“A poet? Really, Esteban?”

“I know.”

“Did he compare you to a summer’s day?”

“No, but he did write a nice one about my eyes.”

“Chocolate pools, sparkling in the moonlight. Hidden depths of –“

“Stuff it, Mr. Vega.”

“What was this one, again?”

“College professor.”

“Yeah?”

“Political ideologies on the continent of Asia, pre-1900.”

“…what?”

“He found it interesting. He was just…never a stars kinda guy. Wouldn’t even take a shuttle unless he had to.”

“How in the hell did you think that was going to work? You love to fly, especially shuttles.”

“I know.”

“Esteban, come on.”

“He was handsome, and easy to talk to, and hates pho as much as I do.”

“Hates what?”

“Pho. Vietnamese soup.”

“You stayed with a ground-loving poet because he won’t eat the same kind of soup?”

“You never stayed with a lady because she was good company?”

“Not for a year.”

“He’s a good man, Mr. Vega.”

“You’ve said.”

“It wasn’t ever going to work, in the long run.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t beat him up.”

“Esteban, I’m not a thug. I just…wanted his side of things.”

“Help me drink the rest of this beer, instead. Leave my ex alone.”

“Fine.”

“I would have bought the good stuff if I’d known you were coming.”

“Esteban, you’re newly single. Of course I came over.”

“……thanks.”

“Always.”

“It really is alright.”

“I know. You’d be halfway through a bottle of cheap Tequila if things had ended badly.”

“I remember.”

“Some kind of businessman, I think.”

“He was an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

“Him, you could have beat up.”

“I did.”

“Is…is that why the Normandy left early that time? Shore leave got cut short by two days.”

“Wouldn’t know about that, Lieutenant.”

“No. Why would the ship’s commanding officer know why we left early?”

“Mm.”

“Nothing you could get written up for?”

“Bar fights happen, Esteban. Not at your fancy clubs, but that pendejo never took you to a fancy club.”

“Leave the teacher alone?”

“Pass me your excuse for a beer, and it’s a deal.”


End file.
